The Strife Mosaic
by tosca
Summary: This is about Strife, God of Mischief's death, and its consequences. The stories are all stand-alone, but fit together to form an overall story. Various het & slash pairings.
1. What Would Suffice

# what would suffice

  
Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire   
I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,   
I think I know enough of hate   
To say that for destruction ice   
Is also great   
And would suffice.  
  
[_Fire and Ice - Robert Frost_]

**.**

**Part 1: In which the Queen of the Gods has Intimations of Really Bad Things to Come**

  
"You won't release him?" Eris whispered hoarsely.

"No, Discord! That giggling idiot of a troublemaker stays! He screwed up once too often, and by the Fates, he can pay the price!" Zeus snarled at the goddess kneeling before him. "He's there to stay!"

Hera drew in breath to protest and he flung out a hand and a glare to silence her. It wasn't that which stilled the Queen of the Gods however. It was the way her tempestuous daughter refrained from screaming in outrage, as was her wont. Instead, she tilted her head and gave her father a long, considering look from cool dark eyes - characteristic of her twin brother in one of his planning moods, but highly uncharacteristic of the chaotic war goddess. 

Then she smiled. Not her "Sweetie, Discord is gonna chew you up, twist your bones into a knot like a cherry-stalk, then spit you out and enjoy every second of it" smile. Nor her "Discord is about to go orbital around Planet Psycho and nuke anything in the atmosphere that moves" smile. Or even her fortunately rare "Discord has a nasty sneaky little plan that will leave you deathly allergic to something or someone for the rest of your natural life" smile. 

No, this was a calm, rational, even slightly sweet smile of acceptance. 

"As you wish, Lord Zeus." the Goddess of Discord stood and bowed, "Mother." she nodded to Hera, then vanished in a miasma of purple sparkles.

"Ha! Well, that went better than I'd hoped!" Zeus slapped the arm of his chair, then rose, making his way to the doorway "The girl's finally learning to respect my wishes."

Hera stared at his departing back in disbelief, rendered speechless yet once more by her husband's blindness. He wouldn't change his mind - that jackass Hercules hadn't gotten his stubbornness from his mother - and she knew no amount of pleading on her own part would help. But didn't he realize he had just denied his own daughter the one thing in the world she wanted the most? Had in fact insulted and belittled the only person she possibly loved more than her twin? And for no reason other than a dislike of the boy because he didn't smarm over him like his other grandchildren did.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Hera remembered the way Eris had smiled.

Too calmly.

Too sweetly.

Too _obediently_, even.

None of them qualities she associated with her beloved, but ferocious, daughter.

Hera also remembered what had happened the last time another deity had taken something Eris loved and wanted. Even now, centuries later, mortal poets sang epics of that war. The repercussions still echoed around Olympus with battle lines and alliances that lasted from the conflict. However most had foolishly forgotten who instigated that debacle, and why.

Perhaps she should speak to Ares, though in truth he was as devastated as Eris by Strife's murder. He also wanted him back and had ranted and raged at Hades to no avail. But his anger and outspoken anguish were understandable, recognizable quantities. Eris's quiet acceptance of her son's death-sentence was not. 

Hera truly dreaded what her daughter was planning now. 

**.**

* * *

**.**

**Part 2: In which the Goddess of Discord Decides to Do Really Bad Things**

_*"He's there to stay! He's there to stay! He's there to stay! He's there to stay! He's there to stay! He's there to stay!"*_

Huddled on the ground beside the cold black marble alter, Eris bit through her lip, the sharp pain and explosion of salty-sweet blood in her mouth drowning her rising desire to scream. Scream and scream and scream, until every pillar and wall in Olympus cracked and broke and crashed and splintered to the ground in jagged torn pieces. Like her heart. 

No, she wasn't the greatest mother in the world. She knew that. But when she'd fallen into pain and despair and psychotic rage, she'd had instinct enough to give her beloved baby to the one person she trusted to cherish and raise him properly. 

No, she hadn't seen too much of him in those brief years that godlings spent growing up. But those times they'd had together had been light and sweet and filled with laughter. They'd been happy, her little family - her and Ares and Strife. 

Yes, in public and under the eyes of mortals, they were the ultimate dysfunctional family. But that was a masquerade brought about through political expediency and to a certain extent, a black sense of humor. In private it was a different story - in fact her little 'family' had even grown bigger over the last few years, expanding to include members of the House of Love. She'd always liked Cupid, once you got past the dumb blonde stereotype he liked to play. And Bliss was a sweetheart through and through. She'd even started to enjoy having 'Dite around again, now that she'd finally forgiven her. Doing 'girl stuff' she hadn't done or wanted to do for decades. And 'Dite no longer underestimated her. 

But her father did. 

The whirling cacophony that was usually Eris's mind slowed and calmed to stillness. She leaned back against the altar and thought. 

Like too many other gods, and mortals, and beings of immortal or magical nature, her father mistook her for her title. Sometimes she didn't think he even remembered her given name. 

She was The Goddess of Discord. 

Of Disputes and Arguments and Disagreements. 

Of Dissension and Friction. 

Of Dissonance and Disharmony. 

She was The Goddess of Conflict. 

She was also a goddess. And what her titles were, and what her duties were, didn't decree the way the woman who was a goddess was. They molded her experiences, and her environment, but being the Goddess of Discord didn't mean that her thoughts or feelings were discordant or conflicted. She was quite capable of logical reasoning or sincere feeling. She seldom had cause or inclination for either, but in those instances when she did, she was deadly serious. Few had ever seen her so, even fewer that still lived, but they would have recognized both in her now. 

_*Zeus will never let him go, damn him! And despite 'Res practically going down on his knees, Hades won't release him either. Between the two of them, two stubborn ugly-souled old men, they'll drain the brightness from my little mischief-maker. He'll be nothing but a wan shade on the shores of the Styx. No. Oh Fates, no.* _

She wrapped her arms around her legs and curled into a ball. 

_*Jerkules gets his blonde fucktoy back every time he slips up and lets him die. That hypocritical she-bitch of Ares' gets her yappy little bard back. Damn them all to Tartarus.*_

She realized the wetness on her knees was tears. 

_*No. I won't accept this. I was right before, and that's what I'll stick with.* _

She remembered the moment of clarity she had experienced, staring up into her father's enraged face earlier that day. 

_*As long as Zeus reigns and the Twelve preside on Olympus, nothing will change. As long as he reigns, Strife will never be released by Hades.*_

*So my father must die. Permanently.*

.

.

* * *

**Note: **The conflict Hera refers to is the the Trojan War, which was started by Eris rolling a golden apple inscribed with the words _"For the Fairest" _at the feet of Hera, Athena and Aphrodite, all of whom claimed it as theirs. 

* * *


	2. Father's Day from Hell

# father's day from hell

**  
cow'ardīce** n. conduct where common sense or self preservation overrules honor.   
  
  
He couldn't see anyone amidst the smoke and gouts of flame of the cavern, but he could tell he was being watched again.  
*_What izzit with this guy?_* he wondered *_I kin unnerstan' wantin' ta keep track, but if that's the case, why don't he get the pooch ta keep an eye on me?_*   
He giggled.   
*_Scarybreath's certainly gotta nuff a them!_*  
He wandered past a screaming soul slowly being sucked into a quicksand pit.   
"Need a hand mate?"   
He stretched an arm out to the condemned soul. The man desperately reached up to the fingers dangling bare inches above.   
"Oops, can't quite make it."   
He watched the man disappear under the surface with a twisted grin on his face.   
"Mebbe next time, huh? Now, where woz I?"  
*_Oh yeah, da weird behavior of the Lord 'a the Dead._*  
He couldn't quite see why Hades wanted him around. Ares had asked (OK, actually demanded - Ares not really being into that 'asking politely' stuff) for him back but Hades had refused point blank. Sure it was within his rights, but what sane deity wanted the God of Mischief kicking around their domain getting into, well, getting into mischief? Even an anally retentive by-the-booker like Great Unc' Hades? Didn't make sense. And he kept damnwell watching him! Not by proxy or by magic, but in person. It was just plain...creepy.  
*_Imagine that, the Lord a' the Dead being creepy?_*   
Strife giggled at the thought.  
"Something amusing Strife?"  
"Arrggh!"   
Strife leapt several feet up and away from the spot behind him where the deep tones had originated. He whipped around to glare at the tall blonde figure cloaked in shadows.  
"Dammit ya tryin' ta kill me again!?! What's with this Big Brother shit? I ain't done no major property damage or nuthin'!"  
Hades looked momentarily nonplussed at the incorrect familial assignation, then shrugged it off as yet another of Strife's speech oddities.  
"I was merely ensuring you had settled in."  
"Dead is dead. What's there ta settle in about? You been sneakin' round after me since I landed in this dump an' I wanna know why."  
The King of the Underworld looked discomforted by his demand.  
"Well, I was, er that is, I don't get much company down here, and I thought..."  
"Oh, ya missin' 'Phoney, huh?"  
Hades gaze chilled.  
"I am looking forward to Persephone's return, yes."  
"We talking 'bout the talkin' or the boinkin' part here? Hey, hey" he raised his hands in a peace gesture at the swift flush of outrage on Hades' face,   
"Jus' tryin' to get on the up an' up, here, y'know? Make sure we're readin' from the same scroll? We talking 'bout the horizontal mambo here?"  
The outrage blended back into confusion.  
Strife continued with a nervous giggle "It ain't that I'm averse ta doin' the ol' bump 'n grind wid ya, y'know, but a guy's gotta right ta be asked by his stalker, er partner I mean."   
Illumination dawned.   
"No!" Hades almost stuttered "No, no, that's not what I meant!"  
"What, I ain't good enuff for ya? Jus ' cos I'm from the House a War? Sheesh, even dead I don't get no respect! What's the..."  
"_No,_ Strife. Shut up."  
Strife shut up.   
Hades might be a by-the-book tightarse, but he was one of the Twelve. And therefore quite capable of making his afterlife eternally miserable. Bad intentions had been amazingly absent up til now, but that didn't mean it couldn't change. Strife had long since learnt not to trust in the kindness of the gods.  
"_What_ I meant was that I wanted to, to talk to you. Get to know you a bit."   
He looked surprising earnest. Strife wondered if the six month stretches of solitude had finally driven Hades nuts.  
"Get ta know me?"  
"Yes."   
The two gods stared at one another. There was a loud POP! as the condemned soul burst out of the quicksand beside them, then started to sink again, all the time wailing for mercy at the King of the Underworld. Hades sighed.  
"Look, lets go somewhere more amenable."   
He reached out with his power and transported them.

* * *

Strife checked out the room surreptitiously whilst Hades lay on the couch opposite and continued to study him over his wine glass. Unlike Ares, the God of the Dead didn't continue the theme of his temple in his personal quarters, and they were a surprisingly homey combination of pale terracotta walls, polished blonde wood furniture and bright jewel-colored furnishings. Probably Persephone's choice of decorating, Strife thought, then wriggled a little in pleasure at the warm sunshine that flooded throughout the room. He hadn't seen sunlight since his arrival, and whilst not the most daytime of people, hadn't realized how much he'd missed it until now.   
"Cute trick wid da sunlight." he dropped into the uneasy atmosphere.  
"Hmm, yes. Persephone got Apollo to work that one out."  
"Uh huh."   
"So. You've been settling in all right? Your quarters are comfortable enough?"  
"Yeah! yeah, the rooms are totally ice. Much bigger than my one's back at Unc's place."  
"Good, good."  
Uncomfortable silence grew again.  
"So. You've been getting on all right with Thanatos? And Charon?"  
"Yeah. They're chill."  
"You're not bored?"  
"Nah, there's always something ta amuse me - or someone." Strife giggled.  
"You can have visitors you know."  
"Cool! Ya mean Cupey 'n Unc 'n Mom can come visit?"  
Hades seemed to freeze with his cup halfway to his mouth.   
"Not Discord. She has been banned from my domain."  
"Really? Why?"  
Strife was the recipient of a rather strange look.  
"She...caused a lot of trouble last time she was here."  
"Hehe, no kidding? Gotta love her. That's where I get it from."  
"Yes. I would say so."  
"So, what did Mom do?"  
Hades gaped at him, then flushed, disconcerted by the direct questioning.   
"Um, ah, well..."   
*_Obviously he don't get put on the spot often._* Strife mused, *_Sheesh, it musta been somethin' pretty decent ta upset the old geezer like this!_*  
A message light suddenly blossomed next to Hades, one with a power signature Strife instantly recognized. "Sorry Strife, but I must go. Please, finish your wine. We can talk later."  
Hades smiled at him in what appeared to be relief, then disappeared in a cloud of little black sparkles.  
*_Cool effect! Ain't seen that one before._*  
Strife relaxed for the first time since arriving, and reached for the wine bottle.  
*_Wonder what Unc' wanted with him? Guess he hasn't given up on gettin' me outta this hole yet._*  
His day suddenly brightened.

* * *

Ares turned from the scrying mirror to the figure beside him.  
"You really aren't dealing with this well at all, are you?"  
Hades glowered at his unlikely rescuer.  
"He's not exactly the easiest person to get to know! Shades, his mind bounces around like a ball. I never know what's going to come out of his mouth next. Or whether I'll understand it!"  
"Yeah well, that's our Strife." Ares smirked "'Bout time someone else got to man the butterfly net. Anyway," he continued, ignoring Hades' glare "I was talking about the other matter."  
His Uncle sighed and turned to the mirror.  
"I can't tell him Ares, you know that." he said quietly "Demeter would love any excuse to take Persephone away from me. If she found out..." He shrugged fatalistically "Can you honestly say Strife would keep his mouth shut?"  
"I don't know."  
"And that's the problem. You've known him for centuries, but even you can't tell which way he'll jump. He still resents his father?"  
The God of War flicked a glance at his nephew in the mirror - he was currently balancing fruit in an upside down pyramid two feet off the side table.  
"Yes."  
Pain showed briefly in the God of the Dead's face before it smoothed to its usual stoic expression.  
"Then I can't take that risk, no matter how much I would like to." he saw the storm gathering in his nephew's visage "I do love him, Ares - but Persephone...Persephone is the light of my life."  
"I think you underestimate her. She isn't the flighty little goddess you carried off anymore. Don't you think she would understand? She deserves the truth. And Strife deserves a chance."  
"No!" dark fire shone in Hades' hazel eyes "I won't take that risk."  
Cold anger now showed in Ares'.  
"I thought you had finally grown a little spine. That this was why you wanted him to stay here. I guess I was wrong."  
"Nephew..."  
"No, if you aren't going to tell him, why keep him? He isn't happy here and you have no claim on him!"  
"He's dead! That makes him mine!"  
"Oh, so you can acknowledge him as _yours_ if he's dead, but not if he's alive?" the God of War sneered at the God of the Dead.  
"You overstep yourself, Nephew." Hades' voice possessed the coldness of the Void.  
"Do I? I'm the one who's been dealing with the consequences of _your _little fling with Eris. I raised him! I taught him! I look after him!"  
"Really? If you _look after him _so well, what's he doing _here_?"  
Ares made an abortive movement towards his sword.  
"That was an accident." he hissed. "One you can correct if for once you're willing to actually _do _something for your child."  
"I don't care about the energy expenditure! If it was anyone else they'd already be gone. But I want some time with him. You've had him for the last couple of centuries - I want to get to know him."  
"But not as your son?"  
"No."  
"Fine. Let your cowardice keep you from having the family you always wanted. Strife will continue to be a son to me, and just a reluctant visitor to you!"  
Ares spat the words at his Uncle, then disappeared in a loud crash of crimson lightening.  
Hades sighed wearily. He turned to look in the scrying mirror just in time to watch the pyramid of fruit collapse.

* * *

**n**


	3. Fear and Loathing in Hell

### fear and loathing in hell 

**rėvěnge'** n. an honeyed or ambrosial food, usually served chilled.

.

**Part 1: In which the God of the Dead contemplates the God of Mischief's screwed-up Afterlife**

The God of Mischief (deceased) and current Personal Assistant to Hades, King of the Dead, lay beside the pool and idly cast pebbles into its still surface. It was winter here in Asphodel. Persephone had arisen to bring spring to the world above once more, and all the Underworld seemed to be sinking daily into a deeper gloom without her lightening presence. Even Strife had found himself wishing the days to speed by quicker. Inasmuch as Asphodel had days. As he lazed apathetically by the pond he considered the one surprising friendship resulting from his unlife.

Being reckless rather than stupid, Strife had avoided Persephone like the plague that first year, knowing how Hades doted on her. Not trusting himself to not offend he had skulked around Tartarus for six months. Pissing Hades off was guaranteed to win himself an unpleasant afterlife, a fate he was keen to avoid. So except for banalities mumbled at the occasional unavoidable dinner party he had managed to barely say a dozen words to her.

The second year he had been aghast to find the Queen of the Dead deliberately seeking him out. At first he had been offended to be the recipient of such condescension. After a few encounters however, he realised not only did Persephone find him amusing, but she was also neither easily insulted nor shocked. Demeter's smothering maternalism had actually created a strong minded individual instead of a dependant weakling. Yet most gods took her for a delicate flower rather than the iron rose she was. It was this misconception that bridged the gap between the two gods and laid the foundations of friendship, for if anyone knew about being misunderstood and underestimated, it was the God of Mischief.

The next year, had cemented their friendship. The only other young god Strife had willingly spent large amounts of time with was Cupid, and that was a whole different ball of wax. Persephone's duties were light and his were amorphous at the best of times, so they gravitated towards each other whilst Hades worked. At first it had felt odd being with a goddess in what was essentially a friendly platonic relationship. Though once you got past the female, warm, two breasts, two arms and two legs attraction, she wasn't really Strife's type. Quite aside from the fact Strife knew Hades would cut his balls off for even looking at her squirrelly and he liked his family jewels just where they were, thank you very much - dead or not.

It seemed odd to him, that change was just as much a part of being dead as it was of being alive. Most of the major gods seldom bothered to change unless a major catastrophe impacted them. Minor gods such as Strife quickly learnt to be flexible. Being dead enforced this even more. Being dead meant having no access to the power generated by the living, and reduced power meant reduced abilities, reduced range and reduced senses. And prospects for worship were small in the Underworld. 

Tartarus was a place where Deimos and Phobos would have fit right in, but mischief there was a minor factor. He did have followers in the Elysian Fields, mainly amongst the youngest shades who dwelt there. However, their tricks were of the gentle childish sort that gave him a mild charge, sweet as honey and quite delicious, but lacking any great power.

_*Well, my control has gotten pretty darn spiffy if nuthin' else.*_ Strife mused. _ *Just a pity I ain't capable a doin' jack shit. The Energizer Bunny could beat the crap outta me.*_

#Strife.#

Hades message light popped into existence beside him

#May I see you in the Hall of Judgment please.#

_*Much more civilized than Unc Are's bellowin' at me. Well, betta go see what he wants.*_

Strife flashed himself to the Hall of Judgment in a small explosion of electric purple and black sparks. It had taken him weeks of continuous practice to get that effect down pat, and he had the nasty suspicion you could only do the black sparky bit if you were dead or something close. But he hadn't had anything better to do with his time and figured it would make Deimos sick with jealousy when he saw it. If he ever saw it, that was.

The chamber was empty but for Hades seated on the throne. The vast hall was of deep charcoal marble, veined in the color of dried blood and hung with dark tapestries that moved disturbingly in the corner of your eye when you didn't look at them directly. Silence echoed up the walls like the barely perceptible song of crystals and the columns that lined the sidewalls stretched up and up and up, disappearing into infinity. Even Strife hated to look up and see that endless void above him.

Hades sat stiffly upright on the plain seat, and a pang shot through Strife at the memory of Ares sprawled like a lazing panther across his skull-embellished throne.

"Yo, Great Unc."

"Strife, I have been given a formal request by Cupid to visit you."

Hades watched as the God of Mischief's whole being closed in upon itself. Leather-clad arms wrapped themselves around a leather-clad body, shoulders slumped and pale blue eyes blanked.

"No." came quietly.

Hades sighed. "It was a formal request. You must give a reason for refusing."

"Why? I don't wanna see him an' that's that!"

"It is but honest courtesy." Hades commented quietly in an impartial voice.

"What's the point? I'm dead. He's not. It ain't like we're gonna talk about the latest MTV video y'know? Tell him visitin' rights are suspended. This ain't a zoo."

Strife turned on his heel and stalked towards the exit.

"Strife…" Hades raised a hand to delay the departing god, then let it fall. 

He couldn't think what to say to reach his son. The past five years had not brought them any closer, despite his efforts to create a bond between them. All it had done was show him the damage caused by centuries as one of Olympus's favorite whipping boys. Strife didn't trust the older and more powerful god on principle, and Hades still had not spoken of their true relationship. Not that he thought it would have helped anyway. Centuries of neglect couldn't be wiped out in a few small months and so he had to watch Strife shy away with suspicion from any contact that wasn't directly related to work. Persephone had an easier relationship with Strife than he did, but even she admitted they never spoke of personal matters.

Hades knew the God of Mischief received few prayers or offerings here. Just enough to create a mere trickle of energy, sufficient for basic abilities, but that was all. It must be like feeding thin gruel to a man used to the most sumptuous of feasts, Hades thought. It was one of the reasons he usually released the gods who found themselves in his realm after they survived the passage there. He shuddered at the thought that Strife might not have been strong enough to re-coalesce from the Void when he had died. Bacchus had failed to do so, no great surprise when thinking of the wild and chaotic god of debauchery. Strife had surprised him with how disciplined he could be, though his self-control left something to be desired. He had to admit, however grudgingly, Ares had trained the boy well. He had also shown a flair for strategy which must have been useful when planning trouble, but that was unneeded here.

Monotony was Strife's worst enemy in Asphodel, but after the third year he had refused to see any of his visitors. Only the stronger gods could freely enter Hades' realm due to Asphodel's blocking of their power source. None of the younger ones had come, though Hades would have given them welcome.

Of the others, Eris was of course banned. 

Hera had visited a few times, and he had watched from a distance two dark heads bent together in murmured conversation in one of the shady woods beside the Styx. Hades found those times to be painful reminders of long abandoned dreams.

Ares had appeared often, avoiding Hades with a glower, and taking his nephew off for long walks, relating gossip and misadventures that kept Strife in high spirits for days after he left.

Cupid, whose relationship to his son Hades was still uncertain of, had also come frequently. Strife had initially enjoyed seeing the God of Love, but then grown more and more depressed and agitated after his visits as time had passed. At the end of the second year he had asked Cupid not to come again. The God of Love had shouted and ranted and pleaded to no avail. Three years later he was still trying, this time through official channels.

And then, two years ago, Strife had suddenly asked that no visitors be allowed. 

Hades had argued. Persephone had argued. 

Strife had remained firm. 

No visitors. 

Not his Grandmother, not his Uncle, and certainly not his Cousin. 

Hades had secretly been glad, sure that his son was resigned to his new existence and that he would now welcome Hades. But that had not transpired. Strife had withdrawn into himself, only spending time with Persephone when she was here, and keeping to himself when she was not.

And lately. Lately the God of Mischief seemed to be merely existing from day to day, the spark of manic joy that so characterized him dulling into apathy. Hades didn't what to do about that, or even if there was anything he could do. If Strife continued to decline like this, th…

_*My Lord,* _

Thanatos's mind-voice broke in upon his musings. He looked up.

_*Will you judge this day's intake now, My Lord?*_

"No, no leave me for a while. There is something I must do." 

Hades waited until the black-winged figure had vanished through the doorway, then conjured a scrying mirror. He blew gently on the surface and thought of his son. The mirror's surface rippled, then showed him the God of Mischief striding down a dark corridor filled with mortal shades…

* * *

**Part 2: In which the God of Mischief screws up someone else's Afterlife****.**

Strife was already several feet past the shade when his brain caught up with him and recognized who it was. 

*_Fuck! Iolaus! Jerkules' bright-eyed boy. Wadda reckon he's gonna be outta here before Jerkoff can finish whinin' "_Daaadeee_"? Fuck, fuck, fuck. It jus' ain't fuckin' fair._* 

Strife ground his teeth, stopped and kicked the wall. 

"Ow! shit! shit! shit! that hurt." 

The shades lining the corridor slowly edged away from the snarling leather clad figure. Annoying a god, especially a dead one, wasn't a good idea at this stage in their existence. Even their slowed synapses thought so. Strife glared at them and one dressed as a warrior bowed politely to him. Strife smirked at the small act of respect, and then the dagger on the man's belt caught his attention. He shuddered. It looked awfully like that damn thing he'd thrust into Serena and then got stuck in him. Of course they both had probably come to Ares's armory from the same forge and th..._whoah_! 

*_Oooh, _yes!_ This is like _the_ opportunity of a deathtime! I am sooo gonna fuck wit' his mind..._* 

Strife flicked a small blessing on the warrior, one his Great-Uncle would hopefully see and honor, then spun and strode back down the corridor. He grabbed Iolaus and vanished them in a small hailstorm of amethyst and ebony. 

* * *

Iolaus surfaced abruptly from the haze that followed death and preceded judgment in the Halls of the Dead. He glanced around confused, last thing he could remember was a fight, and Hercule's voice yelling his name. Now he was in some sort of upper-class receiving room with...Strife! The dead god looked the same as he always had, 'paler' not really being an option. Dressed in the usual oddly-cut and decorated black leathers, hair a spiky dark halo and ice blue eyes glowing in his ashen face.

"Well, well, well, Iolaus da Hunter - hello dog-boy! Ain't seen you since Jerkules' little wifey got offed. He's losin' bedtoys left, right an' center now, ain't he?" Strife smirked at him.

_*Dead. I'm dead again*_ Iolaus realised.

"What? No snappy comeback? Naah, Herc the Jerc don't keep ya round for the conversation, now do he?" Strife grinned at him "Then again, I'm sure he keeps ya 'roun for the _mouth_." 

Iolaus flinched away from the verbal attack. Whilst he hadn't exactly liked Strife the few times they'd met, he couldn't think what he'd done to incur this type of venom from the god.

"Tell me, don't it worry you that your lover like jumps inta bed wit ya after doing the wild thing wit' an animal? I mean I know he's a demigod an' all, but don't the bestiality thing squick ya jus' a liddle? Married ta her or not?" 

Iolaus saw red. 

"_What?! _That's what you thought Serena was? Some dumb beast? She was a woman! A good, decent, loving _woman_! Who you murdered!!"

"Heh - yeah right. I woulda thought you'da appreciated that an' all. What wit' it leavin' the field clear fer ya." 

Guilt and remembered jealousy flashed across the hunter's mobile face, and Strife pounced on the weakness.

"An' come on, weren't like she were a real human, was it? I mean can we say _venison_ here? "

With a roar of rage Iolaus charged at the god. Instead of slamming into him however he felt himself slide past, as though Strife were enveloped in an invisible slippery shell. He managed to stop just before he ran into the wall, turned and stormed back to the god, who stood, arms crossed in a relaxed pose, sneering at him. 

Iolaus threw a punch at Strife, who raised up a hand. The blow missed by a fraction but momentum spun the hunter around. His legs twisted together and he fell clumsily to the floor, sitting there for a few seconds, stunned. He flushed in mortification at the uncontained laughter spilling from Strife's lips, scrambled to his feet and swung at the leather-clad figure a second time, only to find his blow passed by the other's face and sent him overbalancing yet again.

"Well he sure don't keep ya round fer ya fightin' skills. I ain't even dodging ya, Curly" Strife smirked.

"You're using magic, you chicken-shit!"

"To quote 'Dite - _duuuh_! I am a _god_ y'know."

"Not much of one. Murderer!"

But what had happened to the fireballs? Iolaus wondered. Strife had never been a god to miss an opportunity to show off his powers.

"Oh, yeah, that really hurt. If that ain't the pot callin' the kettle black!"

"What?! I've never murdered anyone in my life!"

"No? Ya got rid of a few people that had it comin ta them, didn't ya? People _you _thought the world was better off without?"

"People like you, you mean? Iolaus snarled.

"Yeah right! As if! All I did was follow orders on that one."

"The orders of a first class murderer!"

"Hey, hey if I was you I'd stop dissin the King a the Gods, y'know?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Strife started to pace around Iolaus.

"Oh, ya ain't gonna blame _that _one on Ares. Deer-girl got her expiry date stamped by the big Z himself."

"Zeus?" Iolaus thought hard, "Zeus...ordered Serena's death" he finished in disbelieving tones.

"Bingo!" Strife whispered in his ear from behind him, hand on his shoulder.

Iolaus pulled away from him.

"I don't believe you."

"Why would I lie?" Strife's eyes glittered like blue ice. With amusement and what looked like pity, Iolaus realized with horror.

"No. I don't believe you."

"Ya think Zeus mighta been juuuuust a little pissed 'cos she was no longer under his thumb? Last a' her kind - ya really think he trusted some unpowered ex-demi-god ta protect her? No matter what Ares promised? Hoo, boy, have I gotta bridge ta sell ya! I mean, get real – he's gonna let her run around? The one being whose blood can kill gods?" Strife laughed bitterly "An don' I know _that_!"

"I, I, don't believe…" Iolaus tailed off, face blanched in shock as he considered the ramifications of Strife's claim. He backed to the couch and sank onto it, his legs no longer supporting him properly.

Strife followed him over and sank to his knees beside him. Iolaus looked at him and defiance resparked in his face.

"You still _murdered_ her! Or did you think the fact you were told to excuses you?"

Strife was suddenly enraged. The remembered terror and agony of dying, the frustration of being caged here in this eternity of boredom, the pain of being separated from his family and friends...andnow this impertinent mortal, who was less than pure himself, dared to judge him? Him, a god, who even Hades was prohibited from judging? His anger boiled out in a venomous whisper.

"Ya wanna know sumtin' else, dogboy? The real reason Grandaddy won't let me outta this hellhole? 'Cos I _didn't_ obey him when I killed Serena. Oh yeah," he sneered at the confusion on Iolaus' face "He ordered me ta do it alright. An' I ain't gonna disobey the King a the Gods fer some meanin'less mortal qualms. I ain't his spoilt brat of a bastard who kin get away wit' _anythin_' y'know. He wants ya dead - yer dead. No, the reason he won't let me out was 'cos I did her too _easy_…"

The most unpleasant smile Iolaus had ever seen crawled across Strife's face. He knew, he just knew he didn't want to hear what the God of Mischief was about to say. But like an already thundering avalanche it was too late to avoid. Strife leaned forward and hissed,

"He wanted me ta make an _example_ of her. He wanted her beaten an' raped an' tortured. He wanted her ta perish in _agony_, screamin' in _fear_. He wanted people ta remember what went down wit' her. Ta whisper about it in horrified voices in dark corners. Ta have nightmares about it in th' depths of winter. Ta write tragedies about it so it weren't never forgotten. He wanted ta make her an example a' what happened ta those that walked away from his '_protection'_…"

"But, but Hercules?" 

Iolaus's voice was barely a thread of sound. Strife gave an ugly little chortle.

"Oh, I'm sure he loves Jerkules just fine, don' get me wrong. But Doofushead wasn' gonna find out, now was he? What he don' know won't kill 'im. An' hey, women are just so _easy _ta replace ya know? Gramps's always gotta 'nother hottie on the string. I'm sure Herc takes after him that way - an' he's just sooo the forgivin' type too."

Stife launched himself off his knees and Iolaus shrank back on the couch in fear. The god just sneered at him however and walked to the side table, pouring himself a cup of wine. He sipped it, then turned back to the hunter, eerie smile lighting up his pale blue eyes like witchfire.

"See, I knew Serena when we was alive. Not real well, ya understan, just in passin' like mosta da Herd. She always struck me as an OK sort, if about as innerestin' as processed cheese. So I didn' do what Gramps tol' me. I just stuck the knife in 'er chest. Bam. Dead. She didn' even wake up. And Zeus? He turned up right at the end ta commiserate wit ol' Herc there. Say wadda shame it was and how sorry he was. An if ya believe that,I still got that bridge fer sale."

Iolaus frowned, remembering Zeus revealing himself at the end of the tragedy. The King of the Gods had then returnedhis son's demi-godhood, rather than reviving Serena as Hercules had asked.

"So Gramps, he gets one dead piece a' venison an' one re-powered teacher's pet an' he wins all 'round. 'Cept fer the little matter a punishin' me, o' course. Then I very kindly go ahead an' get myself killed, an' he's perfeck'ly within his rights ta leave me down here. Despite the pesky little '_no-gods-killing-other-gods_' rule."

The anger swiftly ebbed away as quickly as it had come, trailing depression in it's wake. Strife placed the cup of wine down and looked at Iolaus. The shade was hugging himself and rocking slightly as if in shock. 

*_If dog-boy were alive, he'd be havin' a real bad day.* _Strife thought with malice _*Guess he's jus' havin' a real _real _bad death.*_

"So now ya know. The whole sordid littl' story. Not that it's gonna do ya much good now, is it? You bein' dead an' all and Herc' bein' alive. Much as Jerkules deserves ta know da Truth"

Iolaus looked up at him with dazed eyes. 

_*Ohhh, yeah. Jus' rub it in wid da word a' the year for Jerkules - _'Truth'_*_

Strife restrained himself with great difficulty from giggling. 

_*Well asshole, ya gonna find out that contrary ta what ya think Truth ain't a beautiful thing. 'N fact, the bitch is usually uglier 'n Medusa.*_

"Well now," Strife said with renewed cheer in his voice. "I better return ya ta the line 'fore Great-Unc thinks I've purloined ya fer nefarious purposes."

The last thing Iolaus saw before his vision was eclipsed in purple and black sparkles was the sympathetically smiling face of the God of Mischief. Somehow that seemed very wrong.

*_Three birds wit one stone. Am I good or what? *  _

* * *


	4. War in Rome part 1

war in rome - part 1  
.

The two men lay atop the hillock peering down at the temple in the valley below and the several dozen soldiers outside it. The black-leather clad man turned to whisper to the man in the ill-fitting armor.

"Remind me again why the heck we're doing this? Xena's big enough and ugly enough to look after herself. And The Blonde can whine her way out of anything. I don't see the point of you dragging me all the way here just because you have some strange notion they need you to rescue them from some dire evil! Why in Hades I let you talk me in..."

"Shh! I see them!" Joxer pointed to where servants were erecting a scarlet pavilion beside a group of brightly clothed men. Two female figures were distinguishable within the group.

"Oh joy." Jet muttered.

"Well, they don't look as though they're captives..." Joxer's face twisted with confusion,

"Then let's get the Hades out of here!"

"...but they don't exactly look happy either." he continued.

Jett viewed the couple in question. True, they weren't bound or shackled in any way, but then they were in the middle of almost a full company of Rome's finest legionaries - not an easy prospect to fight out of. Xena's head was tracking back and forth, as though she were looking for something - or someone, he concluded as she stopped when she was facing where he and Joxer lay.

"Come on," he whispered to his brother, tugging Joxer's sleeve and backing away from the edge, "I have a bad feeling about this."

"No, no, look it's OK, Xena's waving."

Joxer stood up and waved back down into the valley. Hearing the clash of armored men thunder towards them, Jett turned and sprinted for the nearby copse of trees. Muttering imprecations about the gullibility of his lovable but idiotically naive brother, he disappeared amidst the trunks as the first wave of legionaries crested the hill and grabbed Joxer.

* * *

Jett merged with the shadows of the temple, only the liquid flash of his eyes betraying his presence in the gloom. Evading the guards had taken longer than he had hoped, but better safe than caught. He had no wish to decorate the insides of another Roman 'correctional facility' - escaping the last one had been enough of a nuisance.

The sound of chanting echoed from the main hall and he slid along the wall of the inner sanctuary to the doorway between the two. The sound of two men breathing came from either side of the curtain. He paused, thinking, then pulled a long thin pin from his vanbrace. Handling it carefully he lowered himself to the floor and peered through the two-inch gap between the floor and the bottom of the embroidered linen. Ah, good, soldiers with sandal-clad feet. He wriggled closer, then with one quick motion jabbed the man on the left lightly with the pin. The soldier flicked his foot slightly, as though to shake off a mosquito. Jett repeated the maneuver with the soldier to the right of the door. He waited a couple of minutes then stood and eased the curtain away from the wall, peering at the nearest guard. The man stood rigid, eyes open and unblinking, stare directed forward, breathing slow and even. Jett smiled. The Elixir of Endymion tipping the pin cost a small fortune but was worth every penny to an assassin. The absence of the guards would have raised the alarm, but anyone would have to take a second glance or actually speak to the drugged guards now to realise anything was wrong.

He moved past the curtain to the first pillar in the colonnade lining the chamber and cautiously peeked around the marble upright. He was at the back of the main sanctuary, behind the statue of Mars that dominated the room. Before the statue was a large black stone altar and down each side was a row of columns. Weapons and shields hung from the walls, lit by large braziers at the foot of each pillar. Decorating two of the columns were the manacled figures of the Warrior Princess and her bardic sidekick.

*Hmm, seems like war gods everywhere have similar limited taste in decor.*

On the plus side, the main doors at the end of the chamber were barred, making his entry point the only easy egress. On the minus side, not only were the main doors guarded by four legionaries, but in the middle of the chamber were four more soldiers, a decurion, two tribunes, three priests, four members of Caesar's personal guard, and ah yes, Caesar himself.

*Bugger! Joxer didn't mention this little detail to me. This could definitely be a problem.*

Joxer however, appeared to be having problems of his own. Not only had he been stripped of his armor (not that Jett thought the ridiculous ensemble provided anything other than encumbrance), his weapons and his shirt, but he was also kneeling - shackled, bruised and swaying, in front of the altar between two of the priests of Mars. Both of whom held swords to his throat as they chanted some holy dirge.

The odds, Jett decided, didn't look good. Certainly he could get out of this one alive - after all no-one knew he was here. And he had little to no real interest in rescuing Xena or the blond harpy. In fact, it was a rather sweet revenge seeing them in this position. And Jett was a man who not only sincerely believed in the philosophy of revenge, but actively made his living off it.

Leaving his triplet behind however, was not an option.

Although the fate of the vast majority of humanity left Jett cold, the continued existence of his siblings was essential to his mental and spiritual balance.

He knew he was easily the least mentally stable of the three of them, and despite his skills and ruthlessness, probably the most emotionally dependant on the other two. But in some strange way Joxer and Jace just 'being' gave him an emotional anchor that prevented him losing himself in the depths of madness, paranoia and loneliness so many sociopaths drowned in.

Jett had once been told by a foreign priest that those who shared a single birth also shared a single soul. Of course he had killed the man for the insult, but afterward he had often wondered if there hadn't been some truth in what the cleric had said. That maybe Joxer and Jace completed him and if they were gone he would be emptied of anything remotely resembling a soul.

Just because he was an assassin didn't mean he were a liar. And Jett never lied to himself. His brothers might be his touchstones to sanity and humanity, but they were also his Achilles heel. Losing either of them would be catastrophic to him.

So leaving Joxer to be slaughtered by Mars' priests was just not going to happen.

Scanning the room once more, the outlines of a plan began to form. Risky, but then this wasn't exactly a low risk situation. He stepped backwards, becoming a shadow on the wall edging its way around the room. And began to pray.

* * *

Jett slithered around the bottom of Xena's pillar and slid his hand towards the heap of weapons piled there. He heard a sharply indrawn breath above him, but refrained from looking up. Every unnecessary movement increased the chances of a hostile spotting him. He carefully and silently extricated her chakrum, inch by inch. He felt Xena's gaze in a crawl over his back, sweat trickled down his neck and he couldn't remember the last time he had experienced this much trouble breathing quietly on a job. He prayed sincerely to Ares that Xena's idiotic bard would stay silent. Some deity must have been listening, as not only did neither woman say anything, but the Romans' attention remained riveted on the altar and his brother's kneeling figure. Gods, he hoped this would work. He'd heard that Xena's weapon was made of some rare star-metal or that is was made by Hephaestus himself. Either way, he was gambling on it being able to do - this!

He stepped into the main chamber, aimed, and let the chakrum fly. With a loud crunch it broke the chains holding Xena's manacles to the wall and the woman rolled forward, grabbing her sword as she did so. The chakrum screeched off the opposite marble pillar with a riff of white sparks, drove in the helm of one of the tribunes, rebounded, then bounced into the breastplate of a soldier, tearing out the decurion's throat on the way, ricocheting back to the assassin who caught it and tossed it the warrior princess. He spent a split second gloating at the look of amazement and chagrin on Xena's face as she realised the assassin knew how to use her chakrum, then turned his attention to the remaining soldiers.

"Intruder!"

*_No shit, genius!_*

"Come on, Jett!" Xena demanded, "HYIYIYIYIYIYI!"

The Warrior Princess' famous war shriek (or _yelp_ thought Jett uncharitably) echoed through the temple as she ran towards the guards charging them from the main doors. Had the woman never thought of letting him stand back and pick them off? Gods, that was the whole point of being an assassin - death from a distance! If you ended up in an actual hand-to-hand fight that meant you'd screwed up. In which case you probably deserved to die. And considering the huge fuckup this entire mission had been from day one, he probably really really deserved to die.

*_And I'm not even getting paid for this stupidity._*

Jett sighed mentally. He flicked his wrists and throwing knives fell into his palms. The two priests on either side of Joxer had turned towards the commotion, posing themselves perfectly for him. He threw. The knives struck. The priests fell.

And then every hair on Jett's body stood upright. There was a wave of crimson and oh yes, just whom he'd been expecting.

* * *

Ares watched his sister pace across the floor in front of his throne, turn, and then pace back again. It was almost mesmerizing, like watching some captured black feline pad up and down its cage, tirelessly patient, endlessly vigilant for the chance to escape. He didn't need to ask what she was thinking of. He knew. Just as she never asked what he was thinking of when he went on one of wordless rages, tearing his temple apart with fire and lightening and sending his priests fleeing for their lives in terror. She knew.

And he knew that one day, some day, the cage would be left unlocked and then the gods themselves would regret it. But until then she would wait.

But right now she needed distraction.

He snapped his fingers and grinned at the item that appeared. He tossed it at his sister and she caught the object from reflex rather than because she was paying attention to him. She looked at it and a smile that was close to a promise passed between the two before Eris sank sharp white teeth into the golden fruit.

"I understand Demeter has been harassing Daddy dearest again."

"Mmph?"

"Seems she thinks her baby girl should be underground for winter only."

"Mmm?"

"Yes, not quite sure how she came to that conclusion myself," he grinned again and slid further backwards on his throne, "though when she came over for dinner the other night she agreed autumn was a time o.."

Ares abruptly broke off as a rarely heard voice, so like another more beloved one, caught his attention amongst the murmur of prayers and vows and appeals that ran like a wide stream through the background of every god's mind.

"...ver ask favors of you but this is urgent! Your daughter Xena is helpless and about to die at the hand of Mars and needs your help. Please Lord Ares, most puissant of gods, hear my prayer and aid us! I know you would not have your child slain by the Roman war god. After all she is of Greek divine blood. Forgive her foolish transgressions and..."

It wasn't the prayer, an entertaining mixture of appeal to divinity and vanity, which riveted his attention however, but the low desperate murmur that underlaid the prayer;

_*My brother is about to die. My brother is about to die. My brother is about to die.*_

_**flashback**_

_A familiar word and voice caught Ares' attention from the weave of prayers._

_"…ife, your nephew i only just found out from iolaus and i just wanted to tell you how very sorry i am i mean i never met him but i'm sure he was a nice guy, uh, i mean god, and even though though you're my god i figure he looked after me sometimes cos everyone always says i'm always getting into trouble but at least i get out of it as well i know you must be pretty upset about him being killed in that awful way i hope your sister is all right and please pass on my sympathies to her and sa..."_

_A prayer for Strife. And a genuine one too. Pain overwhelmed the War God._

_"OUT! GET OUT!" He screamed at his priests._

_They froze, then as if with one mind fled for the main doors. Their lord had alternated between homicidal rage and apathetic melancholy for the last few weeks. More than one mortal had paid the price of his mood swings. Even though few of them had genuinely liked the mischief god, for he had pranked and mocked them too often for that, as one they wished he had never died. Or that the Sky Father would allow him to return. Anything to draw Lord Ares from his frenzies and depressions._

_Ares slumped in his throne, dark curls tilted against the chair back, eyes closed._

_So all the mortal realm now knew of his nephew's death. Three months had passed and it was clear to him that neither Zeus or Hades would release Strife from Asphodel. And this was probably the only truly deeply felt expression of condolence any of his worshippers had given him. And who was it from?_

_Not his daughter, who knew how much he'd cared for Strife._

_Not his half brother, who was partly to blame for Strife's continued death._

_No, it came from Joxer, who'd never even met him._

_Ares laughed bitterly._

_Joxer, the wannabe warrior._

_Joxer the hopelessly martially inept._

_Joxer the blood innocent._

_Ares wanted, no, needed a diversion, something, anything, to divert him from his grief. He sat up, flexed his powers and a polished silver mirror with an iron frame that wreathed around it like poisonous metal ivy appeared. Ares waved a hand over the surface and the greyish reflection flickered and dissolved, displaying in it's stead a stream trickling beside a green meadow. With a bird's eye view the mirror's vision swooped down through the leafy strands of a willow tree to center on the man quietly seated beside the water..._

_**end flashback**_

"No!" Ares exclaimed, surging to his feet.

"'Res, what's wrong?"

"Joxer. Mars has him." his face twisted in a dark snarl, "But not for long!" He drew power in.

"It could be a trap."

"I don't care!"

Eris was unsurprised by his reply. Maybe this would be the drop that filled the cup to overflowing?

"Wait! I'm coming too!"

Ares impatiently opened a conduit of power to his sister and as soon as she connected, vanished them in a rush of bright red sparks.

* * *

_*...ish they'd at least let me die on my feet this is really uncomfortable though i guess not as uncomfortable as xena and gabrielle are at the moment gods i hope they manage to pull one of their last minute miracles and escape at least jett got away i wouldn't want to drag him down with me i really feel bad about getting him involved in this it's almost as bad as that time with the border garrison and the herd of goats man did we smell and he ranted about it for weeks and speaking of ranting what was xena going on about she thought she was saving me from i'm not sure didn't she know i came here to save here not that i'm doing that great a job sigh it would have been nice to die doing something heroic like saving a child from a runaway chariot or villagers from a rampaging horde of ban...ouch!*_

One of the priest's swords dug a little deep and sliced him. The sting drew his attention back to the temple, and the ache in his knees. His head still swam from the blow that had rendered him unconscious at his capture and the strong pine incense the priest had thrown on the fire added to his disorientation and mild nausea. The brazier flames threw a flickering glow upon the altar and statue in front of him, the sharp dark shadows giving an evilly demonic cast to the god's face.

_*..so odd to die in the temple of a war god i wonder if He'll know when i die? if He'll care no don't go there there's no point in thinking about something that's so ridiculous oh shades i don't want to die i don't want to leave Ares i'm sorry i didn't mean to abandon you too...*_

"HYIYIYIYIYIYI!"

Xena's war cry broke through Joxer's reverie. The clash of weapons and cries of pain behind him meant the warrior woman had broken free of her shackles. He didn't dare turn to see however as the priests hadn't moved their swords from his neck. Staring straight ahead the statue seemed to swim in his gaze.

_*gods i feel so dizzy even the statues are swayi...*_

"Shades!"

Joxer was startled into exclaiming. The effigy had moved! Not just swayed, but moved. One of the priests beside him stopped chanting and cuffed him around the head, fortunately away from the sword blades.

_*maybe the incense is making me see things? no it's definitely moving*_

Both priests suddenly slumped, swords rattling to the ground. As one of them spilled in a fall of red robes beside him he recognised the thin black-hilted dagger protruding from below the lax face and empty open eyes. He gaped, shocked into inaction for a moment or two, then struggled to his feet, about to turn when a horn resounded throughout the temple. His eyes were drawn back to the effigy of the Roman war god. The statue's eyes flashed, there was a ripple of crimson light down it and then the sculpture was gone, and Mars himself stood in its place.

_*oh dear i didn't think this could get much worse but i think i was wrong...*_

**.**

* * *

**tbc**

[**index**][1]

   [1]: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/toscaskiss/index2.html



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